


Comforting Fire

by Moonbeam (moonbeamsfanfic)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Episode Tag, Ficathon, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbeamsfanfic/pseuds/Moonbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-"Not Fade Away". When the heat of battle has passed, two of its survivors warm themselves with the most basic of comforts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comforting Fire

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Leni's double-blind CYA ("Choose Your Author") Ficathon. Originally written August 2004.
> 
> My assignment:  
> 
>
>> **Characters/Pairings you want the story to focus on**: Angel/Spike  
> **Characters/Pairings you want in the story also**: Illyria, Connor  
> **Things you want**: Post AtS Los Angeles, a phone call from Buffy to Angel (positive, please); A humorous exchange about Connor having two vampire daddies  
> **Things you don't want**: No more than passing mention of Cordelia.  
> **Extras**: Make it dirty and naked, baby. *G* Dark is fine, but... I'm about "dreary and hopeless"-ed out. Have mercy.

Comforting Fire  
By Moonbeam

 

A week. It had taken a week.

Six days and seven nights later, the war with Wolfram &amp; Hart was over. A few hundred demons lay dead around Los Angeles, and Angel's team was drastically reduced... but they'd done it. They'd done the impossible; taken on Evil Incarnate and survived. And in the end, it was nothing much different than what they'd each done a dozen times before.

They'd even retaken to using the Hyperion as their base of operations.

"I'm bloody exhausted," Spike said, staggering into the hotel. He dragged his ichor-covered axe behind him, too worn out to even lift the blade.

Angel stumbled in behind him, clutching his equally blood-splattered sword in one hand and his stomach in the other. There was a gaping wound in his abdomen where he'd been skewered by one of the dragon's talons before he and Spike had managed to kill it. Moaning, he dropped down beside Spike on the nearest seat softer than the floor -- although even that would do after the night, _the week_, they'd just had.

"It's over now. That was the last one," he affirmed, but Spike was already asleep.

Heaving a sigh, Angel dragged his weight back up to his feet and lurched over to the check-in counter. Over the past week of round-the-clock violence, they'd gotten into the habit of always having a fully stocked first-aid kit readily available within easy reach. Angel leaned over the counter to grab it now, wincing at the resurgence in pain as his stomach pressed against the wood.

"You require assistance," a voice said behind him.

Startled, Angel whirled around to face the new arrival, the first-aid kit brandished in his fist like a weapon.

Illyria tilted her head curiously at him. "While the weight of the container is sufficient, its unwieldy shape will cause inadequate damage to harm an enemy."

Angel relaxed, the faint hint of a grin quirking at his lips. "Oh, I don't know," he joked, "it could make a good blunt instrument if you put enough force behind it." He set the plastic box back on the counter and opened it up. "Are you going to come help me dress this wound, or just watch?"

Raising a blue-tinted eyebrow at his tone, the dispossessed king nonetheless moved to assist the injured vampire. "You were successful in your mission?" she asked him.

"Yes, finally cornered the dragon up on Mulholland Drive." He held a piece of gauze in place while Illyria dug out a bandage to affix it with. "What are you doing up? You and Connor were out late today cleaning up the last of the demon legion, I thought you'd be sleeping the sleep of the just by now."

In order to deal with the massive influence of demons in the wake of Wolfram &amp; Hart's destruction, the three survivors of the initial battle had split into shifts. Angel and Spike would fight through the night, and Illyria with Connor's assistance would work during the day. The result was surprisingly effective. For though the legion was many members strong, few were able to operate 24 hours a day. By fighting in both darkness and daylight, they'd effectively managed to cut the odds in half.

Somewhere on day three, Angel had received a call from Buffy offering the services of a few Slayers to aide in the clean-up. How she'd known to reach him at the Hyperion was a mystery, but he'd been grateful for her concern. It soothed his weary soul a bit to know she still cared about him. Unfortunately, the Slayers she'd promised wouldn't be able to come for a few more days yet. So Angel, Spike, Connor, and Illyria had been left to fight on their own. Still, working with only two warriors per shift, it had taken them only a full week to finish the job.

No one had been terribly surprised when, on the sixth day of continuous battle, the law offices of Wolfram &amp; Hart reappeared intact on their downtown corner lot as if nothing had happened. The war had ended shortly afterwards, with only a bit of clean-up for the heroes to do before they could finally rest.

"Your offspring was making too much noise," Illyria explained, taping the bandage into place. "Despite his exhaustion, his excitement at the thrill of victory would not allow him to rest. He insisted on playing something called the 'Sex Pistols' in celebration."

Angel groaned, not just in reaction to the pain of Illyria putting pressure on his wound as she wrapped the tape around his abdomen. "Spike's influence, no doubt," he grumbled.

The others had learned the truth about Connor's origins during the first night's battle. Gunn had already fallen to his injuries, though not without taking a few demons with him as promised. Spike and Illyria had wound up fighting back to back, but Angel had gotten cornered by a pack of Brulsthas demons. He'd been taking the brunt of their beating and was seconds away from having his head forcibly removed from his shoulders when rescue dropped down from above.

"Connor!" he'd yelled. "What are you _doing_ here?" He'd redoubled his efforts, trying to keep the demons away from his son.

"Gee, dad," the boy had chirped merrily at him, swinging away with Gunn's axe. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and you're already getting into another fight? Honestly!"

He'd been joking at the time, but Spike knew Angel well enough to read the truth in his grandsire's eyes. And though the tide of battle turned enough for the foursome to retreat to the nearby Hyperion hotel, Spike had spent the remainder of the night pestering Angel until he'd spilled the whole story.

Surprisingly, Spike and Connor had taken quite well to one another, with Spike assuming a big brother role toward this newest addition to his vampire family. He was almost as protective of Connor as he'd been of Buffy's little sister, Dawn. Angel just wasn't sure if he was thankful for it, since it meant Connor was safe; or envious, because he longed to share such closeness with his son himself.

Angel closed his eyes, listening for the sound of his son in the hotel. For the past week, his senses had been drowning in the sounds of violence. He'd grown used to hearing screams and roars while he slept. At first, he'd tried to urge Connor to go home, to stay out of this fight -- but the boy had inherited his father's stubbornness. He'd sworn to see the war through to the end, and that's what he was going to do. So every morning he went out with Illyria, cut down as many demons as he could find, then returned to the hotel each night to rest and recuperate.

But the battle was done (for now), and a peaceful silence has descended over the world outside. There was nothing to stop Angel from hearing the subtle rustle of sheets as his son shifted in bed. His breathing was slow and even with sleep, and faintly, slightly tinny and distorted as if from headphones, the cacophony of rock'n'roll blasted into Connor's unaware ears.

"You can hear that?" he asked Illyria curiously, limping back to the couch to wake up Spike.

Illyria followed, her eerily familiar-strange features shifting to show mild irritation. "Yes. Clearly. His listening devices are too loud."

Spike grunted when Angel shoved at him, but didn't rouse. "I think it's just because your hearing is more sensitive than most, but if it bothers you and will make you more comfortable, I'll talk to Connor about it," he offered.

Illyria paused. Angel knew she was still unused to such gestures of kindness and common courtesy. "Thank you," she finally said. Wesley had taught her that much of a response was expected, at least.

Something within her, the part that had felt a sense of loss at his death, drove her to continue learning the ways of this modern world. She stayed with the vampires because they were her only guides now, and besides... where else would she go?

Angel knew this, too, and thus was inclined to tolerate her a lot more than he'd been before. The fact she'd been so instrumental in helping them win the war didn't hurt either.

"G'way, y' poof. Need t' sleep." Spike mumbled, swatting feebly at Angel's hand as the older vampire tried to prod him into getting up.

"You need to feed first," he said, appealing to Illyria to help him hoist the recumbent Spike to his feet.

Working together, Spike all but dangling insensibly between them, they managed to get the exhausted blond into the kitchen. Angel heated a couple of mugs of blood, poured one down Spike's throat while he downed the other, then the pair coaxed their charge up the stairs to the one empty bedroom.

Since the events that had proceeded Angel Investigations agreeing to join Wolfram &amp; Hart had left only two bedrooms of the large hotel intact, the foursome had been sharing them. Doing so was easier than it sounded since by default of their 'shifts', there tended to only be two people in need of them at any given time. With Connor sacked out in the other, Illyria had probably been occupying this one when Angel and Spike noisily stumbled in and she went to greet them.

Angel tried to lower Spike to the bed, lost his already tenuous balance, and toppled down beside him. He lay there, panting unnecessary air, trying to work up the will to move -- to check up on Connor, to lock up the hotel...

Illyria saved him the effort. "I will remain on watch," she said, moving to leave the room. "I have had enough rest for now."

"Thanks, Illyria," Angel mumbled gratefully, and fell asleep.

He woke, hours later, to the sensation of lips running along his throat. A cool body was pressed close beside him, no sheets or clothes barring contact. He, they, were naked.

"Mmmm," he purred, relaxing into the too-long absent feeling of comfort and sensuality those lips brought him. His hand raised without conscious thought to cup that head closer, his fingers sinking into the soft hair.

The head pulled fractionally back. Angel slitted open his eyes to meet the blue ones staring back at him, their edges crinkled in humour.

He froze, eyes widening in shock. "Spike! Wha--?"

Spike laughed at his stuttering lack of eloquence. "What's the matter, Peaches? Worried Connor's gonna come in here, see us shagging, and know his daddy's a poofter? Relax, he took Illyria shopping for a new leather wardrobe. They'll be gone for hours."

"But you... _why_?" Angel stared, unable to wrap his brain around the fact that _Spike_, of all people, was trying to seduce him.

"Because I'm tired, I'm lonely, and I know what we're like together." Spike sighed, flopping onto his back. "Look, Angel," he said, "I'm not suggesting we pick out curtains or anything. Your boy is already screwed up enough having Darla for a mother, the last thing he needs is two vampires daddies living in gay wedded bliss."

Angel choked, almost swallowing his tongue.

Spike ignored the interruption. "But we've been fighting non-stop for a week now -- heck, for _years_ if you want to get technical about it -- and for what? To save a few measly humans? To postpone yet another apocalypse? To watch everyone we know and love die?" He turned imploring eyes on Angel. "To die ourselves? Or maybe, if we're _really_ lucky, for one of us to fulfill the Shanshu prophecy and become human as reward for our pain and suffering?"

"Helping people--"

"I don't _care_ about helping other people right now!" Spike shouted, turning to glare at the ceiling. "I don't care about saving the world, or even the bloody prophecy! I'm _tired_, Angel... I just want something for me now, y'know? I want to forget about all the evil out there, forget about Wolfram &amp; Hart and the Powers That Be, and just..."

And suddenly Angel understood. "Just live, just _feel_. Turn your mind off all its pressing concerns and just immerse yourself in your senses. Let the world pass you by for while. Draw a little comfort from someone else's touch, to remind you why you fight in the first place." It was almost exactly the same reason why Angel had fallen into bed with Darla during his disillusionment a few years back.

Of course, the consequences of that little indiscretion had been Connor's conception, not that Angel really thought he had to worry about anything like _that_ happening with Spike. He chuckled a little, smiled at Spike's irritated confusion, and wrapped the younger vampire in his embrace.

"Okay," he said, giving up any resistance. Whatever his childe needed...

Spike snuggled into his side. "Thanks," he muttered into the crook of Angel's neck, his tongue reaching out to caress the tender flesh gratefully.

Angel put a hand on either side of the blonde's head and drew Spike up so they were face to face. "You're welcome," he whispered seriously, and leaned up to kiss him.

Spike melted in the kiss, his weight dropping down on top of Angel's. All the tension flowed out of his muscles as he realized Angel understood and wouldn't deny him the comfort he sought.

Angel ran his hands down Spike's back, petting him and soothing him, reassuring him. He wasn't going to change his mind about this -- he needed it as much as his childe did.

Gradually, the kiss changed. It grew less soft, less tender, as the spark of passion within them built up into a healthy flame. It had been too long since they'd been together this way for it to blaze out of control, but they could both appreciate the comforting warmth of this slower burning.

"I'd forgotten how soft your skin is," Angel murmured, his hands exploring every inch of the body he'd once known so well. William had been a poet, a bookish young man. He hadn't done much physical labour, or spent much time outdoors under the harsh sun, before Drusilla turned him. His skin had never acquired the roughness of most men's.

Spike mumbled some sort of reply, too busy licking and nibbling at Angel's throat to pay attention to his words. He scraped his blunt human teeth over the prominent jugular vein -- a tease, and a request for permission.

Angel's hands clenched on Spike's hips. "Yessss," he breathed, thrusting lazily upwards.

Spike needed no further encouragement. His face shifted, his human mask falling away to reveal the demon, his fangs elongating. He brushed those sharp teeth against Angel's skin once more, lapping up the tiny rivulets of blood they left behind. Then he reared back and buried his fangs in his grandsire's throat.

Angel growled in pleasure, his hands pulling on Spike's body to drag it closer. He shoved a knee between Spike's legs and drew it up until his foot was flat against the mattress. This brought their groins into contact, and both vampires hissed in satisfaction.

Spike's mouth was still glued to Angel's neck, savouring the thick, powerful blood that flowed slowly over his tongue. He could taste Angel's desire, his need for more. His hips jerked in response, his erection grinding against Angel's. He felt strong hands clamp onto his buttocks, kneading the muscles, and purred even as his own fingers dug claw-like into Angel's broad shoulders. He bit harder at the throat beneath him, working his tongue into the wounds to draw the blood out faster.

"Oh, you little..." Angel chuckled breathily, his own face beginning to lose its human countenance as he surrendered to the bestial pleasure sweeping over him. "You're gonna pay for that," he whispered, his own nails drawing marks into the soft skin of Spike's ass.

He rubbed the pad of a single finger along the path his nails had taken. Drops of slick red blood clung to the digit, coating it in a fine red sheen. Nostrils flaring, Angel brought that finger to his mouth and licked it clean.

Spike watched, fangs withdrawing as lust of a different sort flashed through him. "Bugger," he moaned, and sealed his mouth over Angel's.

Blood and saliva mingled as their tongues met, their sharp teeth clashed and cut each other's lips. Growls and moans filled the air as the fire between them flamed into an inferno.

Spike moved to straddle the older vampire's hips. "Fuck me," he breathed, nipping at Angel's lower lip.

Angel's eyes glowed, his brow ridges becoming more pronounced in response. He brought a hand up to Spike's face, stroked along his temple, over the scar in his left eyebrow, and down to his bloodied lips. Carefully, gently, he dragged that finger over Spike's sharp incisors, slicing into the digit.

"Don't," he said, when Spike moved to suck the blood off. "I'll need that for something else." And he drew the finger away.

Spike's breath hitched, his arms trembling slightly where they held him up. He said nothing, staring into his grandsire's yellow eyes as that blood-soaked finger moved down their tangled forms to push against the entrance of his body.

"More," he hissed, pressing back against the finger when it refused to enter him right away.

Angel laughed lightly. "Patience, William," he admonished.

"Fuck patience and fuck me already, Angelus!" Spike snapped in return, taking matters into his own hands. He grabbed Angel's hand in his own iron grip, and held it still while he thrust back forcefully. He groaned with heightened pleasure as the digit finally penetrated and sank deep within him.

After that, things heated up quickly. Soon enough, most of Angel's hand was buried inside Spike's welcoming body. Spike rocked urgently above Angel, exhaling gustily, trying to persuade him to skip the preliminaries and get to the main event. Finally Angel had enough and deemed Spike ready. He pulled his fingers from the blonde's body, positioned his hips, and thrust home with one powerful strike.

Both vampires howled.

"Goddamn, yes!" Spike yelled. "I've freakin' _missed_ this!"

Angel grunted, not slowing in his vigorous thrusts which made the bedframe shake in its hinges. "Uhn, me too."

Words failed them then, as they concentrated on the purely physical sensations taking them both over. They revelled in their primal power, their baser instincts; all thought of the world outside wiped from their minds, if only for a moment.

They let themselves float on the wave of passion that carried them away. Let their bodies move mindlessly, each of them basking in the animalistic pleasure of simple, no-strings sex. Then the wave crested, and they roared in tandem as the emptied their release into and on one another.

Chest heaving, Spike collapsed into Angel's arms. "Now _that_," he panted, "was just what I needed."

"Mmm hmm," Angel agreed, long past the point of verbal coherency.

They lay together in sweaty, blood- and come-soaked abandon, each too tired to move. Eventually, they fell back to sleep and didn't wake again until they heard a ruckus brewing down in the lobby.

Their reinforcements, Buffy's promised Slayers, had finally arrived.

Spike and Angel looked at each other, listened to the noise of half a dozen teenaged girls arguing with one teenaged boy and a millennial-old god-king... and broke up laughing at the absurdity of it all.

"_Typical_," they thought together, and laughed some more.

~*~*~*~

The End.


End file.
